


A Stranger Is My Soul

by Riathel1738



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dream Sex, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Severing, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, The Force, Universe Building, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riathel1738/pseuds/Riathel1738
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren destroys everything he touches.</p><p>Rey should really take more care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

When he was a child, Ben Solo dreamt he was drowning.

It started with two figures locked in combat, lightsabers throwing up purple sparks every time their blades met. Again and again they drove at each other, soundless except for the hiss and whir of their sabers. It seemed as if they were equally matched, until the red stumbled, falling over another figure. The blue never hesitated to kill him. As Ben watched the red swordsman fall into the lava, he realized that he had been sinking into lava the entire time. It did not burn, but it encased him, sucking him greedily into the depths of the earth. He tried to scream, always. For help, for the blue figure to notice him, for his mother, for his father.

No one came to rescue him.

At first, he had woken from the dream sobbing, running to his mother, unable to fully explain the terror. She would soothe him in her own way ( _it’s just a dream, Ben, don’t be silly)_ and send him back to bed.

The dreams did not cease. One day, Ben stopped talking about them.

* * *

 

Kylo Ren awoke suddenly, and all at once. For a moment, he thought he had been blinded, but blinked as he found himself in a sterile, white room. He was restrained and very, very sore. Critically, he glanced around the room to answer a question he already had. Obviously, the Resistance had captured him. The days of being tested by Snoke were long behind him, but nonetheless the room he was in was far messier than anything he would find in the First Order.

 _Good for them_ , he thought, highly irritated. With such a military blow, the brainwashed citizens of the Republic might forget the incompetence of their pathetic little Resistance force. The General could continue playing war for a little while longer. Well, it would not take Snoke very long at all to track him; he would be surprised if the Grand Master’s troops were not already in pursuit. Perhaps his capture would be the military advantage they required to finally crush the Republic.

He glanced around the room once more, then down at his flimsy restraints. Where was this sense of unease coming from? Something was off…

Dread ran down his spine like shards of ice. His connection to the Grand Master had been severed. “No,” he murmured through clenched teeth, and threw himself into the Force.

There was nothing.

“ _NO._ ” He threw his being again and again into it, trying to find any opening in whatever bond they had placed over him. All that he could sense was his own fear and rage. It was consuming, maddening. How had they—

Luke Skywalker. Of course. His one-time master thought to _tame_ him.

Kylo shook with fury, his vision blurring. He lurched up off the cot, and immediately tripped over the chain connected to the wall. Unbidden, he threw his rage into the Force, trying to break the chain, and screamed when he could find nothing, again. He pulled at the chain savagely, shrieking and cursing. Unable to bend it, unable to even hurt himself, Kylo turned to the table before him, shoving his hip into it. It didn’t budge, and pain ripped through his side. Bolted to the floor. It was just like his mother to be so uselessly vindictive.

The rations and water on top were not attached, and he threw them at the wall, unsatisfied even by the scrape of metal. Rage flowed through him like lava, so hot and heady it was difficult to breathe properly. He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes darting around the room. There was a door five metres away, but the chain only extended halfway past the table. He was trapped, like a caged animal.

He screamed until his voice was raw. He slammed his body into the table, again, and again, hoping to feel the comfort of the dark, to excise the aching in his soul. Blood oozed from his grazes as he threw himself into the wall. Eventually, sobbing, repulsed, exhausted, he collapsed.

No one came.

* * *

Of all the things that Luke had done, this was the most agonising. No amount of meditation could ease his discomfort; he felt the wound in the Force keenly, an empty, yawning hole that caused great imbalance. For days, he could not use the Force even to lift simple objects.

For days, he had been avoiding his nephew.

Luke grimaced, stretching his muscles loose from his sitting position and rising to his feet. It was most difficult to do what was right, but even more to do what you were unsure would work. This was a gamble. Potentially the most important gamble of his life - not only in what it meant for his family, but for the universe and the balance of the Force as a whole. He damn well hoped it paid off.

When he reached the hallway of the cells, he could hear voices.

“The General wants to execute him, you know,” said a male. “I mean, you saw -”

“I know! I know. I saw him; we both did. I just have this feeling, Poe. Han wouldn’t have wanted anyone to give up on him. If you let me inside -” As Luke turned into the hall, he was struggling to contain a smirk. There was the young woman who kept badgering him to become his apprentice, newly badgering a frazzled looking man. Rey was persistent, he would give her that, but he was worried that it wasn’t all for the right reasons. “Oh!” she said, surprised. “Master Luke, I’ve been -”

“Still not going to train you,” he said simply. She opened her mouth. “And no, I’m not discussing what it would be like _if_ I trained you.” Rey scowled, opening her mouth once more. “And _no_ , I’m not going to tell you what it was like to be trained as a Jedi. Is that it?”

“You didn’t mention what it was like to destroy the Deathstar,” she said sulkily. “Or what Han Solo was like, or what General Leia was like.”

“Right. Not doing that, either, kid.” Even with the Force so limited, he could sense her irritation, and he grinned. It felt good to call someone kid. “Why are you so interested in the prisoner?”

“No reason!” she said, flushing bright pink. “Just, uhm, just this feeling I… um, I think I need to go do maintenance at Sector 5, see you later, Poe!” He watched her flee, still grinning. That was the first time she’d ever tried to get away from _him_. But he was curious to know why she of all people was desperate to see Kylo--Ben. She had already eagerly regaled him with all the stories (four times each) of what it was like to be tortured by him, to fight him, how she’d awakened the Force in the middle of a battle… Perhaps he should take her on, he thought, then dismissed it. His failures at teaching were well documented - in fact, they were in the room before him.

“Uh, sir?” said the boy called Poe. “Did you uh. Were you just checking out things, or am I supposed to know what you want, or uh… Like is the silence a secret code among Jedi or…?”

Luke smiled. “None of that, sorry. I was merely lost in thought. Your friend is very lively.”

“You’re telling me,” Poe muttered, grinning even so.

“I wanted to see Kylo Ren.”

The boy stiffened. “Uh, orders from the General were that nobody goes in.”

“I’m sure Leia would make an exception in this case.” Poe looked uncertain; Luke gestured quietly. “You should let me in.”

“I’m not sure, sir.” Of course the Force wasn’t working when he needed it, damned moody universal energy. Poe chewed his lip; he hadn’t noticed the failed attempt at manipulation. “I guess it would be okay, you being a Jedi Knight and all. You’ll yell out if there’s trouble?”

“What would you do if there was?” Luke asked, amused. He answered before the boy could think on it too hard: “Yes, of course. Have you, ah, heard anything from him?” Reports from the first night were that Ben had been screaming for hours on end. Nobody had been brave enough to go in. After that, it had been eerily quiet, like the desert before a storm.

Poe shook his head. “Not a peep.”

* * *

The door slid open with a muffled hiss, and Luke stepped into the painfully bright room, neatly dodging two days worth of rations on trays beside the entrance. Another tray was lying, face down, next to the right wall, its contents sprawled across the floor along with a dried water stain. At the far wall was a cot, a chain connected to the wall above it leading to the black, prone form of his nephew. He was staring at the ceiling, and did not react to the opening door.

“Ben,” Luke said softly, filled with regret and loss. To have the sense of his nephew ripped away from him so suddenly had been wearing at him for the past few days. He had tried, very hard, not to imagine what the severing of the Force must have done to Ben. Luke stepped further into the room, eyes fixed on Ben. He no longer knew what his nephew was feeling, and the knowledge was suffocating. “I missed you.” Luke said it like an apology. Ben did not stir. “We all missed you. I felt like I had to…” He sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. “Where did I go wrong, Ben? Where did I go wrong with you?

There was no answer. 

“Your father loved you,” he continued. “Your mother did - I loved you. I thought it would be enough to undermine Snoke’s influence, but,” grief welled up inside him, “he was too strong. I left after you… I left to find a way to bring you back. I thought this was the only way.” _I’m sorry_ , he didn’t say. _I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong enough for you._ “Please forgive me.” 

Ben stared at the ceiling with a dull, lifeless gaze. Luke had been expecting rage, vitriol, hatred. This kind of empty brokenness was much worse. So, he did what he was best at, and fled the room, a surprised Poe shouting to ask if he was alright.

* * *

“You have to see him, Leia.”

“No, I don’t,” she said curtly. “Hand me that holo-reader.” Luke picked it up, but kept it; she sighed.

“There is still light in him,” he insisted, his metal hand curling slightly. “You know Han would have --”

“Han is dead because of me,” Leia snapped. “Han is dead because of _our son._ Let me repeat that for you: my only son murdered his father in cold blood. So no, I do not have to see him, and I will continue to not see him, and that is absolutely final.”

Luke frowned. “What if I mentioned a prophecy?” He ducked under a holo-reader thrown with unerring accuracy at his face.

“You go see him if you have faith in whatever misguided endeavour you’ve come back to pursue,” she said, irritated. “And don’t think that I’m not annoyed at you too! You don’t write for fifteen years, then you swan back in here like you’re the chosen one himself, spouting about Force this and prophecy that and dad’s ghost told you so and so.”

“He did,” Luke muttered. “And I _have_ seen Ben.”

“I don’t care, one! And two: why are you still bothering me? And pass me that damned holo-reader before I throw another one at you.”

“He looks broken, Leia,” he said, handing it to her reluctantly. She snatched it out of his grasp and activated it instantly. “I’m afraid that what I did was… wrong. He was always so sensitive to the Force; I thought severing the connection would free him, but maybe I’ve failed again.”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Stop throwing yourself off a cliff to become a martyr again and again. You did this when he murdered the academy--” Luke winced at the memory, thrown at him like a barbed blade. “--and you’re doing it again now. You have no _idea_ what it felt like to be his mother, and I’m sick to death of you acting like you’re the only one who’s suffered.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she steamrolled over him. “Either you find a way to make him atone for what he has done, or I will have to execute him.”

“Leia!”

“He is a murderer and a Sith,” she said flatly. “The number of lives he’s taken, the number of families he’s ripped apart -- it doesn’t seem to matter to you. To be truthful, it didn’t matter to me, and then he killed…” her voice shook suddenly and she swallowed hard. “I don’t believe there could be light in him anymore, Luke. I truly don’t.”


	2. 2

What they had here, Rey thought, was a faulty compressor. She bobbed up and down as she examined the sparking protocol droid, uncaring of the engineer’s critical gaze on her work. He would either trust her, or he wouldn’t; all she cared about was getting this poor droid back in order.

“Error,” the droid said weakly, “the system - is - faulty - my apologies - madam.” It repeated that in Wookie, the roars tinny through the vocal box. She could upgrade that, too, if they had any spare parts around. Wouldn’t be shocked if it was made of rusted or inferior materials; mass-produced droids rarely went for the much more durable option, thinking to push their new range out just in time for their previous versions to break down. This droid had been around for a few generations of software and hardware upgrades, and was clearly showing its age.

“Hang on,” she reassured the droid, opening the hatch to its mainframe with deft fingers. “We’ll get you sorted in no time.” Rey hummed slightly as she examined the mess of wiring and rusted on parts. She turned to the engineer, one eyebrow cocked. “When was the last time this droid was serviced? No, don’t answer - not since production, I can tell. You _have_ to take better care of their hardware, otherwise it rusts up all bad. If you get me a brush, I can clean this all off and start repairing his compresser. I’ll throw in a vocal box too, if you’ve the parts.” She winced internally as she realised she was bargaining with the bemused engineer, who just nodded; he seemed a reserved type. Good hands, though, she could tell he loved his machinery by the callouses. And the oil stains.

She was soon scrubbing away at the rust on the protocol droid, humming lightly as she worked. It continued to sadly repeat its error message, and she amused herself by trying to name each language it ran through.

In truth, Rey was glad to be working. It made her feel useful, while everyone else was off discussing strategy and war. The grit beneath her fingernails reminded her of simpler struggles, for food, shelter, survival. She wasn’t suited to complex political machinations, she reasoned, polishing off a bolt.

“That’s a faulty compressor,” said a deep voice from behind her. Her heart hammered and the brush dropped from her fingers; she whirled, cheeks pink at the indignity of being surprised. It was Master Skywalker.

“I know,” she said carefully. He smiled, and leaned against the tool bench.

“Worked on many protocol droids?”

“This is my first, but they’re like enough to other things.” She cast her eyes down, and the brush rose jerkily from the floor. At first, she’d been thrilled about her connection to the Force, revelling in it wherever she could (much to Poe’s mock groaning and the giggles of the other X-Wing pilots). Now, in front of Luke Skywalker, it seemed like so much child’s play.

There was a noise so slight she thought she imagined it. “When did you learn to levitate?”

“Just. You know,” she shrugged it off, “wanted it enough.”

Luke studied her intently; embarrassed, she turned back to the shorting droid. “You are very… unique,” he said, finally. She flushed, pressing her face deeper into the mainframe. “I have a proposition for you,” he announced. Rey pulled back from the droid to look at him; he was flipping a wrench casually from hand to hand. Then, he paused, scratching his hair. “Well, it’s more like - I need your help.”

Rey’s eyes lit up. “What’s the deal?”

* * *

_It was cold, and she was dying. Her breath puffed before her blurring vision, shaky little wisps that were rushed away by the roaring wind. The nightmare stood above her, eyes red, saber humming with furious energy. It fell on her, and she closed her eyes._

_The blackness bloomed with blue light._

Rey woke with a muffled shriek, hitting her mouth to cover the noise. For several moments, she just breathed, unable to fully shake the terror of her nightmare. Already, the details of it were slipping away from her - but not the fear. Never the fear.

Even since they had destroyed the Starkiller, she hadn’t been able to get a full night’s sleep. It wasn’t the same dream every night, but every time she woke screaming.

Karé stirred on the bunk beneath her, groaning briefly. “Y’kay?”

“Yeah,” Rey stammered. “Sorry.”

“S’alright,” the captain muttered, and sheets crinkled as she rolled over. Soon, the small room was filled with the sound of her soft snores.

Rey clutched the sheet to her chest, small tears blurring the edges of her vision. This was ridiculous, she thought, dashing them away with her thumb. It was just a dream. The captain had been so good to her about this. The first few nights, Rey had been sleeping in the main dorms, but she could tell she annoyed the Resistance fighters with her constant, loud awakenings. Karé had stumbled across her sleeping in the hallway, and insisted that she take the top bunk in her room - “I’m afraid of heights anyway!” she said, refusing to take no for an answer. In retrospect, that quip didn’t make sense from a starfighter pilot, but Rey had been too embarrassed to bring it up again.

It was a terrifying thing to try and trust all these new people; even though they _were_ so nice, Rey couldn’t help but feel as if they’d grow tired of her. Find her lacking in some way. It didn’t help that Finn, the only person who’d ever come back for her, was still comatose. Despite the assurance that they were doing all they could... She had expected him to at least be awake when she returned with Skywalker.

Now she didn’t know what to do. Medical stuff was so far out of her purview that she felt uncomfortable even hanging around the medical bay. She felt clumsy and out of place, in a way she never had the luxury of feeling on Jakku. This sense of unease bled into everything she did, everything she said. It was humiliating, suffocating in a way she’d never experienced.

Rey sighed, and pulled her hair into some semblance of order. Enough moping, she thought brightly. Today, she would finish on the rest of the droids that needed upgrading, check in on the rest of the ship’s hardware, and… She swallowed, mood dropping.

Visit Kylo Ren.

It was completely worth it, one part of her argued; Jedi training with Master Skywalker was such a ludicrously unexpected proposal. How hard would it even be to talk to a prisoner?

_He loomed over her, gloved fingers brushing against her jaw-line. “You know I can take what I want,” he said, silkily. She shuddered in terror, recoiling into the chair, unable to escape his touch._

Rey shook her head to clear the image. This was different. She was in control now - he didn’t even have access to the Force anymore, Luke had assured her.

She would deal with it later, she decided, dropping noiselessly from the top bunk. Karé snored on.

* * *

Rey had been expecting a dark room with a very evil looking chair in the center, for Kylo Ren to react to the door by spitting insults overlaid with an uncomfortable intimacy to his voice. Her day had been filled with sporadic contemplation on how to confront him.

The plainness of the room was off-putting. As was the sight of the cruel and violent man curled in a ball on the cot, his dark eyes dull and his sensitive face blank.

She paused for a moment, considering him; then, she sat, cross-legged, as close to him as she was comfortable, and began to speak: “So, I repaired an R-series astro today. Figured it had blown its optical drive, but actually it was the temp control. The first series is awful - they installed the thermal exhaust right near the opticals. I mean, what kind of idiot does that?” She paused - she swore that he had just glanced at her. “Uhm,” she rubbed her nose, “I don’t know how familiar you are with the unit, but that kind of structural fault cuts the optical life in half - and that’s at best.” He was definitely looking at her. He seemed curious, his forehead crinkling slightly. “It’s just shoddy machinery in my mind, but he was too cute to scrap for parts. It was around for the Battle of Endor - have you - sorry, of course you know about it. Anyway…”

She chatted about her day for another twenty minutes, her discomfort at his gaze slowly giving way. He seemed content to just listen. When she left, she turned back at the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” Kylo Ren’s gaze followed her the entire way to the mess hall, a ghost of some feeling she couldn’t explain. She did not want to think about what had happened on Starkiller.

The nightmares came again that night.

* * *

“I’ve never played chess before,” Rey admitted. Kylo stared at her. It was a comfortable routine they had slipped into. She tried to fill up his silence, and he sat still, listening with that same, intent gaze. “The wind’s too fierce at night at home for setting up pieces, and there’s too much to do in the day. I’d like to learn, but I don’t want to ask anyone how. I think people assume everyone knows it anyway and…” Rey shrugged, picking at a loose scab. “Do you play?”

He didn’t answer.

“It’s hard to have a conversation with one person,” she reflected aloud. “But it’s okay. I kind of did at home, too. Do you want me to tell you about Jakku? I mean, there’s not much to talk about really.” Wincing, she locked her fingers together and stretched her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders. “There’s a lot of sand,” she said, simply. “Gets everywhere, but that’s sand, I guess. The scariest moment I ever had was almost being caught by - the locals call it the Maker’s Wrath. It sounds silly to outsiders, but you’d not want to be in it. The winds go all quiet for a few days - and the Uthuthma used to worship the wind, so the legends say that it was like the gods abandoning the planet. Then it’s just on you. If you’re not in shelter by then, you’re either dead right there and then or you will be. It lasts for two weeks. The biggest one was a month. Howling winds like a hurt Gnaw-Jaw.” Her cheeks darkened when her stomach growled abruptly, and she realised how into the story she’d gotten. She glanced around for something to eat, and saw six trays neatly piled to the side of the entrance. Rey frowned.

“Have you not eaten?” He blinked, slowly. Now that she really looked at him, his pale cheeks were sunken in, and there were dark rings around his eyes. She picked up a tray, and put it on the table. “Eat.”

Kylo did not move.

“You don’t want to die, surely?” she asked incredulously. “Don’t be stupid, have something to eat.” He stared at her, blinking slowly. Hesitantly, she approached the cot where he was curled in on himself. “Have something to eat… Ben.” He snorted suddenly, and turned away, chain clanking. Unthinking, she reached out for him, hand brushing against his arm, determined to make him eat.

An electric jolt passed up her fingertips, and Rey yelped. Kylo must have felt it too, because he looked back at her, eyes wide. When their eyes met, she felt a clench in her gut, her head spinning.

Suddenly, she was looking at herself. _What?_ she thought, blurrily. _Why do I look so tall?_

 _Get. Out. Of. My. Head._ A furious, snarling voice was at the back of her mind. Stunned, she blinked - and was back to herself, staring down at Kylo Ren. She staggered back, raising a hand to her mouth as shame and nausea and fear rose like bile in her throat.

The silence that had before been so comforting was now claustrophobic.

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispered.

“Why bother, _Jedi_?” Kylo shocked her by replying, his quiet voice jagged from lack of use. He was shuddering with barely contained fury, and she suddenly felt afraid of him. “Why apologise to the pathetic Sith? If I had my powers, I would kill you where you stood, you _repulsive FILTH_.” She jumped backwards as he screamed, and he followed her, lurching forward violently. She slammed into the table, pain shooting down her side. She was trapped.

He loomed above her, incandescent with rage. There was a madness in his eyes that she had never seen, intense and yet distant, as if he were in another place and another time. She raised her hand defensively as he leaned towards her, and he snarled aloud.

“You will not harm me,” she said, with more confidence than she felt.

His face contorted. “ _I will kill you,_ ” he shrieked, fighting off her control. His hand jerked towards her throat, as if he meant to use the Force to choke her.

" _You will not harm me_ ,” Rey shouted, compelling him with all her might. His eyes burned into hers, lit with fury, and then he crumpled to the floor. Rey stood where she was, panting heavily and staring at him. Her mind was awash with panic – how had he been able to fight her control? What had that connection been before?

Rey groaned, suddenly feeling nauseous; she wrapped her arms around her stomach and leaned forward. That had been terrifying. His complicit silence over the past few days had lulled her into a false sense of security – convinced her that this man was harmless, broken. He was anything but. More like a wounded and rampaging animal.

It took her several moments to overcome the dizzying urge to throw up and faint simultaneously. When at last she opened her eyes, Kylo was still unconscious on the floor.

Even out cold, he looked agonized, as if being torn in two by some invisible force. Rey shook her head and sighed. Finding Ben Solo was going to be much harder, and much more dangerous, than she had first thought. Maybe this wasn’t such a certain deal after all.


	3. 3

_She was above him, her lithe spine stretched to its full length as she smirked down at his naked body. He felt vulnerable in a way that ached, wanted so badly to reach out and caress her - but her hand was around his throat in an instant, pressing lightly._

_“Hurt me,” his voice was shaking. Power surged through her, hot and heady, a delicious heat pooling in her veins. He could feel her, sense her every thought and emotion. It wasn’t enough. “Let me feel your pain--aah!” She slapped him before she could think; he moaned, dark eyes flitting from her face to the ground. They paused, panting. He didn’t know if the dark pleasure came from him, or her, but it was enough. “Please. More.”_

_His face flung back with a satisfying_ _crack, lips parted wetly. Fingers pressed at his mouth. “Take them,” she hissed. He sucked them in, tongue greedily laving against her skin. Thank you, thank you, thank you, his thoughts pressed on her mind. She could feel his hardness, pressed up into her, and she smiled. It was not kind._

_“Mistress,” he sighed, and she shoved her fingers deep into his throat._

* * *

“Morning my little Rey of sunshine!” Poe announced brightly, dropping into the seat next to Rey. The look she gave him was nothing short of murderous. Normally, his over-the-top affectations for her made her giggle, glad to have someone so friendly as Poe Dameron to ease her loneliness. Today, after waking up with her thighs sticky and her mind a hot, wanting mess, she found it grating. People shouldn’t have the right to look so happy and rested, she thought bitterly. “You,” he said, chewing his bottom lip and drawling out the word, “ _you_ look like you’ve had a terrible fuck.”

“Poe!” He spread his hands in mock confusion.

“What? It’s true. Is Karé not as good as I’ve heard?” Her temper flared, and the bun she’d been picking at hit Poe square in the face.

“I’m not sleeping with the captain,” she said, briskly, ignoring his yelp. She stood, shoving her tray back across the table. “I have work to do.” Before she could walk away, he tugged at her sleeve, pulling her back to face him. Rey glanced away. She felt tired, and awkward, and sad, and the last thing she wanted to do was put up with people talking at her.

“Hey, Rey. Settle. Are you okay?” Rey looked into Poe’s earnest, concerned face, and felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, lower lip trembling. Irritated, she swiped at an escaping tear. This was ridiculous. She had survived death by starvation on Jakku more times than she could count, lay in bed at night with a hole in her stomach and fear in her heart. It seemed trivial to be crying over two weeks of bad dreams and not enough sleep. “I don’t think anyone would understand.”

Poe shrugged. “We’ve all been through things that we think nobody has ever experienced before. Why don’t you try me?” He saw the hesitation on her face, and sighed. “I have nightmares about being strapped to a chair and tortured. Getting into a cockpit is… it reminds me of being captured. It sucks,” he added, smiling wryly. “I’m supposed to be the best pilot in the Resistance, and now I get dizzy when I’m strapped in.”

She had no idea what to say. She hadn’t even thought about Poe’s brief time with the First Order, being tortured for information. A pang of grief went through her, remembering her own torture - she hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it, hadn’t even thought to share experiences. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly, sitting down next to him. He shrugged.

“It gets easier. Well. In theory.” Poe propped his head on his fist, looking at her with a kind friendliness that made her want to cry again for about four different reasons, none of which she could adequately describe. “So what’s up, sunshine?” This time, he said the term gently, trying to coax her. She let herself be coaxed.

“Starkiller.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I know it was hard to watch --”

Rey shook her head. “No. It’s not…” _it’s not Han Solo_. The words stuck in her throat. “It’s something else.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. The dull yellow lighting of the cantina sparkled off his kind eyes. Rey felt suffocated suddenly, her chest clamping down with a primal fear she didn’t understand. _I can’t do this._

Poe stared after her back as she fled the mess hall. “Man,” he shook his head. “Why is everyone so flighty?”

* * *

_Frozen, alone, and bleeding, Kylo Ren waited to die._

_The blast charge that had ripped through his robes had stopped burning through his skin some time ago, but he could sense the damage it had already caused. The internal bleeding erupting from traumatized cells, spreading under the surface—even if he had the energy to use the Force, he would be relying on instinct to guide his clumsy attempts at healing._

_His face burned. The cold burned. He couldn’t concentrate—the pain, so intense, was starting to grow numb to the cold, just like his thoughts. He was weak. So weak._

_‘You’re afraid.’_

_It was that girl’s voice again. Kylo shuddered, breath misting up into the air. He should have killed her. It was ambition that stayed his hand, ambition and lust. She should have—why couldn’t she have accepted the power of the dark side? Together they could have been… What a stupid—blind…_

_‘You’re afraid that you’ll never be as strong as—’_

_He tried to scream with rage, but fire lanced down his side and the sound died in his throat._

_‘Strong as… are you there?’_

_Now he was hallucinating her voice. Or maybe she was reaching out through the connection in the Force they shared. Whatever the case, it wasn’t worth responding to. He’d rather die in spite than fulfill whatever idiotic, childish curiosity she was trying to appease._

_‘Are you there? You’re hurt.’_

_Something dark filled his blurring vision. He thought about her eyes. They looked like his mother’s eyes before… everything. So young. So…_

_‘Can you stand? Chewie—no, I know, just, please…’_

_What a terrible way to die, Kylo thought, and he let himself slip away._

Kylo woke. He stared up at the ceiling for several moments. His breath came hard and fast as he willed the dream away, clutching on to the cold, comforting rage that was only ever so far beneath his skin. The stark lighting made it difficult to sleep, and his dreams recently had made staying asleep possibly harder still.

The girl. He frowned. Whatever perverse motive she held, she had saved his life. He only wish he knew _how_. His injuries - _inflicted by her_ , his rage snarled - were nearly fatal. He touched his face, but there was no raised skin. Nothing to indicate that she had slashed at him rather viciously. His body was still aching, yes, but there were no scars.

There was too much light in her, Kylo thought. Too much of that damned Jedi tolerance. He wanted to rip her apart, to make her scream and bleed, to tear open her skin until she was red and raw and oh-so-sweet in death.

 _No you don’t_.

No. He didn’t. That was the problem. _It is not her strength that makes you fail, but your weakness_.

Kylo breathed out, then swung upwards, shifting into a sitting position. The girl was inconsequential now. All that mattered was finding a way back to the Force. When Skywalker had first taught him, he had said that deep meditation was the best way to _get in touch with himself_ \- whatever tripe that meant. Kylo had never been very good at meditation. It had clearly disappointed Skywalker to have an apprentice so lacking in focus. That had been why he begun searching for others gifted with the Force, and abandoned Kylo.

The memory sent a fresh spike of anger through him. It curled through him, offering power in exchange for control. _Why do you need focus when you are strong?_ the anger whispered. _Your raw power has always been enough to crush them_.

Yes, until a slip of a girl had beaten him into flesh pulp. _You should have killed her. She is a threat to your power, but she is still weak. Still growing. She would not recognise you - kill her._

With great effort, he pushed the rage back, forcing himself into an uneasy calm. Unbidden, the words of the Jedi code came to his mind.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

Kylo breathed in and out, hating himself. It was necessary to use the tactics of enemies to subvert their code against them, he reasoned. He pushed his feelings and thoughts away again firmly.

The lights buzzed above his head. People were moving outside his cell - exchanging the guard. He wondered what time it was. His stomach ached. The light shining into his shut eyes was distracting. He thought about the losses the First Order had incurred, the rebuilding that would need to be done. He thought about the scavenger.

Eventually, hissing, he gave up, flinging himself backwards onto the cot. Meditation was for fools and old men. He had no use for it.

He only wished that were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! :D H.M.S. Trash-Can forever.


	4. 4

“I bought a chess board,” Rey said by way of greeting. Kylo stared at her from his usual vantage point on the cot, watching as she set the board down on the table and began to set up the pieces. He had just been reconciling himself with not seeing another person until his inevitable staged trial and execution - certainly, he had not expected the girl to return after his display of temper the other day. She was either more resilient than he gave her credit for, or more stupid. Unhappily, he suspected it was the latter. “You’re going to teach me. You go white, I’ll start black.” She moved her starting pawn diagonally.

“I don’t appreciate being mocked,” he snarled, rising to his full height. Rey scratched her head.

“What d’you mean? It’s your turn, I think.”

He swept the board off the table in a fit, ignoring her annoyed exclamation. The pieces scattered everywhere, bouncing off the wall and under his cot.

“This is not a _game_ ,” he hissed, leaning into her as close as the chain would reach. “I am your enemy. If you were in these chains, you would be - you would be tortured, and bleeding, and begging for your life. Not playing _chess_.”

Rey regarded him with more of that damnable Jedi calmness. It sent an ugly spike of hate and rage thrumming through him. “You can pick up the pieces under your bed, I’ll get the ones over by the wall.”

“Are you listening to me?” Kylo shouted, slamming his fists onto the table. “Stop _mocking me!_ ” His voice was humiliatingly screechy, he knew, and the lack of control over even his own body made him shake with what he thought was anger. “I tried to kill you the other day,” he spat, “and I would gladly do so again - so please, _Jedi_ , come closer and let’s see how calm you are when I’m choking you to death.”

Rey just smiled gently. “If you want, you can play as black, I don’t mind.” She bent over, deftly snatching up the white queen. “And I’m not a Jedi,” she added, as he stared at her with a combination of fury, disgust and confusion. “We haven’t even started training yet. What’s an in-training Jedi called, even?”

“A padawan,” he replied instantly, then swore, and hit the table again. “Be silent!” He kicked the table’s supporting column for good measure, holding onto the feeling of throbbing pain through his foot like a drowning man clutching a raft. Unconsciously, he tried to feel for the Dark side of the Force - and was met with emptiness. A hot fury spiraled into his bones.

“We could play another game, if you want,” Rey said, tilting her head to consider him. “Or just chat.”

It was enough to tip the font of rage simmering under his skin over the edge. He lunged at her, cut short by the chain, his fingers nearly grazing her desert-rat tunic. “Hold your tongue or I will cut it out,” he barked, trembling, needing a reaction and hating her for it. Her face was impassive, a perfect study in passive detachment. “I will kill you.”

“I think you said that already,” she said mildly. He let out a furious shout, slamming his lower body into the table for another hit of pain to extend his rage. It wasn’t enough, so he hit his own abdomen, digging his nails through the fabric and into his skin. If he could not find a reaction in her, could not feed off her pain to stifle his own, then he would have to control his pain. He hit himself in the head, lost to the maelstrom of his emotions, trying to find some familiar comfort in self-harm.

A slender hand grabbed his wrists in mid-arc, and pulled him forward. His vision was obscured by his greasy and matted hair. _Mother?_ Leia had found him once as a seven year old boy, hitting and scratching himself until he left red, crescent-shaped marks on his pale skin because it was the only thing that made him feel calm. That was the first and only time he had seen his mother sob. He cried too when she held him, unsure of why.

“Why do you do that?” It was not her. Kylo remembered where he was with a jerk. Another hand came up to push his hair back; he flinched backwards, trying to escape Rey’s touch. It was too gentle. It burned his skin. He did not want to look at her, but years of discipline training made him force his gaze onto the subject of his fear.

It was a mistake. She was lovely with concern. Her hair, normally pulled into those three buns, had escaped and was splayed across her face. She did not seem to notice; her eyes were fixed on his face, small mouth pulled into a moue of worry.

“Don’t touch me.” It was meant to be a command, but his voice cracked into a plea. She did not let go of him. Her fingers slid under his restraints, touching the raw, cracked skin. He inhaled sharply. “I said--” Rey hushed him softly; instead of snarling, he fell quiet.

Her other hand was still resting lightly on his face as she stroked his wrists. He wanted to shove her off him, but his muscles were rigid with fear. Fear that she would sense how small and lost he felt and use it against him. Twist his vulnerability into a weapon that could be used to hurt him. He had to close himself off before she could, he knew. Every inch of him was screaming to run.

“Do you want me to take these off? They look like they hurt.” Her hazel eyes were pretty, he realised vacantly. Always so alight with movement, constantly analysing and dissecting. When she glanced up at him, it was like looking into a black hole; he felt it like a punch to the gut, a yearning, aching chasm opening up inside him.

“I killed Han Solo,” Kylo said, voice jerky. Rey blinked at him and the feeling that had threatened to overwhelm him vanished.

“Yes,” she said carefully.

“He was your father figure,” he continued. “Are you not enraged?” She frowned.

“He was your father. I think he -” her hand dropped from his face and suddenly he could breathe again. “He would have wanted me to forgive you,” Rey finished. Her face was honest, so far as he could tell. He sneered, feeling more in control.

“You knew nothing about him, then.” Pulling his wrists away from her, he sat back onto the bed, waiting for her to leave in a huff.

Rey studied him with those inscrutable hazel eyes, sweeping him up and down appraisingly. It would have been discomforting had Grand Master Snoke not often regarded him with a similar look. He shook his hair back into a tidier mess, feigning disinterest in her existence.

“Hey,” he glanced over when she spoke again. Rey held up a black knight, smiling like a child with a new toy. That definitely made him uneasy. “How about that game?”

* * *

He was about to take her, Rey realised with a desperate gasp; hot colour flooded into her cheeks as she, fingers trembling, moved to block him.

“Bishops do not move in straight lines,” Kylo said, his boyish face lined with a scowl. “You are terrible at chess.”

“You’re not a great teacher either,” she retorted, returning her bishop to its original location. Chess was hard. She moved her pawn - _those_ moved in a straight line - forward one place.

“Move my queen to D3. Check,” he said. At her blank stare, he sighed. “It means that I can take your king on my next move if you don’t block me.”

“Oh.” She studied the board. She moved her queen two spaces up and one space to the left to block.

“ _No_ ,” he drawled. “Queens don’t move like the knight.”

Rey glared at the board, and then at her teacher. “Why not?”

“They just don’t. We’re not here to debate the basics of chess. Move it back.”

Chess was awful, she decided, thudding her queen back to its original place. People who liked it must have some part of their head put on wrongly. She moved a pawn.

“Queen to D1, check.” At least someone was enjoying themselves. Kylo’s voice was almost radiant with victory.

After his queen took her pawn, knight, and rook, he declared, “Checkmate,” smiling at her in self-satisfied smugness.

“You’re meant to teach me,” she complained, “not beat me and enjoy it.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked smoothly. The chains rattled around his wrists, a reminder of reality. The way his skin had felt, raised and torn, had made her feel ill. Restraints so crude and heavy as these weren’t necessary for someone stripped of his connection to the Force and still recovering from the battle on Starkiller Base. General Leia was grieving the loss of her estranged husband - but to be so cruel to her only son sent a pang of nausea through Rey. _You should all be grateful that you_ have _a family_. “Set the board up again, I’ll show you how not to get beaten in such a pathetic manner.”

She propped her head on her hand, leaning forward into the chair she’d been able to bring in. Kylo raised his eyebrows.

“Do you want to learn, or sulk in defeat?”

“Why did you kill Han?”

Obviously, he had not expected that question, because he visibly flinched. His open face contorted with a mix of emotions - anger, surprise, pain - before settling on revulsion.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, dismissively. “If that’s all, you can leave. I’m in no mood to be berated on morality from a Jedi.”

There it was again. Kylo kept referring to her by that honorific (however insultingly said) even though she hadn’t begun training yet. He took care to give her the utmost respect while claiming that he hated her and wanted to kill her. It boggled her mind - she’d never met someone who ran to such extremes before. The closest equivalent she could think of was when she tried to rescue a Ripper-raptor that had been entangled in a steel net. It was keening in pain at the same time that it tried to savagely rip off her hands, flailing itself into a bigger knot. Eventually, she had to put it out of its misery with one, sharp blow to the skull.

“Was he mean to you as a child?” she probed. “Did he hit you or some-such?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Their fragile truce was shattered as Kylo staggered to his feet, growling.

“Out,” he snapped.

She was getting very sick of his fluctuating temper and violent tantrums. “You know I could take it from your mind if I wanted to,” she snapped back, rising to match him. He dwarfed her in height, but she’d beaten bigger and larger opponents. One weedy little wannabe-Sith was hardly a challenge.

Kylo Ren stared at her, eyes dark with loathing. “Careful, Jedi,” he said, trying to hold onto the smooth tone he had earlier and failing, “your anger may yet lead you to the Dark side.”

“Oh, _piss_ off,” she said, marching up to him and jabbing him in the chest with one finger. He flinched, shrinking backwards from her as if afraid she might hit him. It was a bizarrely scared gesture for someone so tall. “If you don’t stop being so melodramatic I’ll... “

“Touch my face again and sigh about how _aggrieved_ you are for my plight?” he suggested, snarky. “Wail and weep to Leia Organa about how you’ve seen the Light in me? Maybe you can all have a nice little celebration about how you’ve _redeemed_ the poor, sad Ben Solo.”

She glared up at him, feeling very foolish to have cared about him earlier. “You’re impossible.” They were nearly nose-to-nose, locked in a furious battle of willpower about who could scowl the most fiercely. “I don’t think you even know what you want, you know that?” she said heatedly.

“I have some idea,” he replied, bending down to close the gap. He kissed her before she could think. It was not a chaste kiss; his tongue pushed at her mouth immediately, teeth catching her lower lip and yanking hard. Their noses bumped awkwardly, but she allowed him to push his tongue into her mouth. She traced it with her own, feeling the bumps and tasting how sweet and musky his mouth was. This was her first kiss, she realised belatedly, grabbing a fistful of his tunic and holding him still, unsure if she wanted to throw him back or drag him in closer.

He grunted when they parted for air, looking down at his chained hands as if they had betrayed him. Her lips felt swollen and bloody; she raised one hand to them and glanced up at Kylo. The troubled look on his face mirrored her own feelings. She banged into the table behind her, wincing at the pain and sliding away from the man in front of her.

Rey waited for him to beg her to stay, hovering on the edge of the room like a frightened animal. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, wasn’t sure if she would stay even if he renounced all ties to the Dark right there and then. But she needed to know.

When he said nothing, sinking onto the bed with his hair covering his face, she fled, and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I cleared up all the format errors and am back to my home country! (Yay.)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here!](http://emodarthkylo.tumblr.com/) I will be making/will have made a post about my update schedule and an about me (I guess). Thanks for all your support!


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